


The Case of Spode

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-20
Updated: 2005-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 02:00:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1625594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Story by Peak in Darien</p><p>There are snorts, and then there are snorts, and this particular snort was distinct in the extreme. It had the sound of an angry hippopotamus clearing its airways. It was, without doubt, the snort of Spode  or, as he gets around these days, the Seventh Earl of Sidcup.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Case of Spode

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Lady Mondegreen

 

 

 

 

As I squared my elbows and got down to the toothsome eggs and b. of which Jeeves had given his best, I was aware of a certain what-d'you-call-it. The birds were twittering madly to each other in the offing, the sun was streaming through the window, the lark was on the thorn and the snail on the wing (so to speak). All in all, I got the feeling that nature had said to itself, "Oh, what the heck," and had decided to smile down on Bertram in all his glory.

"I say, Jeeves," I ejaculated, if ejaculated is the word I want, "corking morning, what?"

"Indeed, sir."

"Sun doing its best, and all that."

"Very true, sir. When streams of light pour down the golden west, And on the balmy zephyrs tranquil rest."

"Neat, that. Your own?"

"The poet Keats, sir."

"Well, tell the poet Keats from me that he's hit upon a good thing." I pronged a forkful of the e. and b. with a debonair smile. "This is a changed Bertram you look upon, Jeeves. Free from the fetters of Totleigh Towers, he meets the morning with a gay laugh and a sunny disposish, safe in the knowledge that he will not be met by a Spode or a Bassett in the living room."

"Yes, sir."

"And furthermore," I said, waving my fork with gleeful abandon, "furthermore, we are about to sample the most topping works of an artist in his prime."

"Sir?"

"Anatole, Jeeves! Anatole! Have you forgotten that we're off to Brinkley Court this fair morn?" 

I gave the blighter a stern glance of disapproval. It is not like Jeeves to forget these things. Actually, it's not like him to forget anything. Jeeves is the sort of chap who listens to you telling a waiter that you want the steak with extra sauce and months later can recount that you asked the waiter for the steak with extra sauce. If you know what I mean.

"The circumstance that you describe had not escaped me, sir. I merely wished to express a modicum of tentative skepticism in regards to your decision to visit Mrs Travers this coming week."

"Consider it expressed," I replied wittily. "No tidings of gloom will deter me, Jeeves. Lay out my suit with the yellow check trousers."

He gave a cough in the manner of a disapproving goat standing on a nearby outcrop of rock.

"Sir, perhaps a plain brown - "

"The yellow check, Jeeves."

*****

One thing may be said for aunts, and only one, for the aunt is a species that defies the good word. Yet the fact remains that no matter how many of one's aunts may be hellhounds of the first order - chewing broken bottles and howling to the moon, and so on - there is always one aged a. who will turn out to be a resoundingly good egg. My good fortune in having such an aunt was impressed upon me once again as I alighted at Brinkley Court, greeted by the eardrum-shattering tones of Aunt Dahlia.

"Bertie, young blot upon the landscape!"

"Hullo, old thing." I placed a grateful nephew's kiss upon the brow of the aged relative as Jeeves shimmered towards the house. "All things flowing nicely, old flesh and blood?"

"Couldn't be better." Here she gave a joyful cry which, resonating through the neighbouring fields, must have startled several foxes from their dens. It was something along the lines of `Yoicks, tally-ho', the sort of thing she once used to command the Quorn and the Pytchley in her youthful days.

"And how's Anatole?"

"Greedy young swine, always thinking about food."

"Not at all, aged a., for to think about Anatole's cooking is supremely natural." Here I paused, to cast a dreamy stare in the direction of the kitchens. "I suppose he's in top form?"

"As always. He cooked up a full feast last night. Spode was rhapsodizing about it for hours."

I asked her to repeat this. It had sounded just as if she had said "Spode was rhapsodizing about it for hours", which I knew couldn't be true.

"Of course I mean Spode, poor half-witted boy. He's staying here at the moment."

"Spode... big, ugly creature, looks like the close cousin of an orang-utan?"

"That's the one. He's here with Madeline Bassett."

I clutched at a passing rose bush, but it failed to lend me support. The world seemed to have momentarily begun to spin, like one of those rummy spinning tops.

"Come along, Bertie," cried Aunt Dahlia, apparently unaware of the dark despair her words had wrought. And with another joyful cry of `Yoicks', she passed into the house.

*****

My first thought was to seek out a good bit of peace and quiet in which to do some thinking. I made for my room, knowing the old truth that one's private quarters are just the trick for providing said p. and q. 

I had got so far as halfway up the first staircase when the Bassett swum into my ken, to quote one of Jeeves' gags. She was wearing the typical weird and dreamy expression, which usually signals a view that the dewdrops on the flowers are the tears of pixies, or something similarly loony. As she sighted me, she gave a sort of gasp like a leaky kettle, and her eyes brimmed up with tears.

"Oh, Bertie. It is hard to meet like this."

"Ah, well, try to take it on the chin, what?"

"You have such a noble spirit, Bertie." Her willowy form quivered somewhat. "Such a generous soul! I know the sight of me is painful to you, but I shall try to feel no sorrow."

"That's the spirit."

Someone behind us gave a snort. I jumped. There are snorts, and then there are snorts, and this particular snort was distinct in the extreme. It had the sound of an angry hippopotamus clearing its airways. It was, without doubt, the snort of Spode - or, as he gets around these days, the Seventh Earl of Sidcup.

"Oh, hello Roderick," said the Bassett, descending to the foot of the stairway where Spode was hulking. "I was just saying that Bertie has such a generous soul."

"Does he?" Spode was eyeing my person with a gleam of something like hatred in his eye. Stockish, hard and full of rage, as Jeeves once said to me.

"He bears his sorrows with nobility." Having let loose this remark, the Bassett swept through the hall and away, casting a last mournful glance over her shoulder.

Being something of an oversized gorilla, Spode only needed a few steps to reach me. It occurred to me that I'd been landed right in the soup, without so much as a gentleman's personal gentleman to save me.

"Wooster," barked Spode, causing a few portraits on the wall to leap from their fastenings and do a bit of a jig.

"What ho," I said, preparing to lay on the old salve a bit. Unfortunately, Spode cut me off with another portrait-rattling bark.

"You listen to me, Wooster. I know your game. You might have Madeline wrapped around your little finger, but you're not fooling me. I know you for what you are - a filthy, sneaking criminal."

The old bean had begun to swim. It was one thing for said Spode to be a thug of the first degree, going around cracking his knuckles and biffing small children with a cane, but for him to accuse me of being not-quite-above-the-law was quite another. The man had made me out to be a kind of cracksman, all because I had once pinched a cow creamer to save Aunt Agatha's skin, which was only what any preux chevalier would have done under the circs. As I was reflecting on this, Spode threw out a club-like hand to prod me in the chest with one finger.

"I'll be watching you, Wooster. If you dare to toy with her innocent girlish fancy, then you'll have me to answer to. I've told you before that I have no hesitation in jumping on your body with hobnail boots. I will find you, Wooster, even if you're quivering in some corner of the attic, like..."

"Like an aspen," I said helpfully.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Aspens. They quiver. At least, I think they do. I haven't checked. Well, it's not like you can go up to one of the bally things and just pipe up, `Excuse me, do you quiver?'"

I had intended to develop the theme, but at this point he told me to stop babbling. After lighting a cigar casually with his left hand, he began to mount the stairs, turning his back on me completely.

A lesser man might have quailed and taken to the hills with no remorse, taking flight to a place where enraged gorillas were unlikely to intrude. But we Woosters are not lesser men. We have our code. I drew myself up and marched firmly away, and if I was mopping the brow a little, what of it?

There was only one brain fit for this matter, and I happened to know that the said brain was about as fish-fed as they come. It was, in short, the brain of my personal gentleman's gentleman.

*****

"This is all a bit thick, Jeeves."

"Yes, sir."

"I mean to say, I come here for a spot of the old rest and r., don't you know, only to find the house bulging with dictators and Bassetts. It's enough to make a chap's hair stand on end."

"Like quills upon the fretful porpentine, sir."

"I beg yours?" I asked, for this had got past me somewhat.

"The ghost from Hamlet, sir."

"Ah. Chap must have meant porcupine, not porpentine. I expect this same mistake happens with ghosts a lot. But we shall not dwell on Hamlet, Jeeves."

"No, sir."

"Not when we are faced with the impending doom of the Spode, what?"

"Yes, sir."

I looked at him. He looked at me. We looked at each other for a bit.

"Is that all you've got to say, Jeeves?"

"Yes, sir. If I am of no further use I will be pressing your trousers."

I knew at once what this cold-fish act was about. Ever since we'd tooled our way over to this rather fruity binge, Jeeves had been eyeing my yellow check trousers with something akin to loathing. I saw the distaste in his eye as he gave a small shudder upon catching sight of them. It pained him to look at the things. My heart went out to the chap.

Yet not even the fish glare of a frozen valet can deter a Wooster when his mind is made up. The young master must exert himself, and all that rot. And those trousers were dashed dear to me. I turned on my heel, giving Jeeves a look that told of strength and resolution beyond measure.

*****

As I reached for my third cup of piping hot tea, I don't mind admitting that my hands were shaking somewhat. It being afternoon, my mind was in the grip of the impending doom that would doubtlessly be inflicted on me by Spode. The thought of those hobnail boots caused my hand to tremble, and consequently caused my tea-cup to go soaring through the air.

"Bertie, you great chump," said Aunt Dahlia, with her usual tact and grace.

"My dear old ancestor." I strove to amend the mess. "Go easy upon young Bertram, for he is set upon from all sides."

She gave a noise which was somewhere between a snort and a derisive chuckle.

"The minute I get here, I find the place chock-full of pining Bassetts. And then there's Spode, lurking behind hedges, prowling around like... Jeeves?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Who were those chaps who prowled around?"

"The troops of Midian, sir."

"Thankyou Jeeves," I said, giving him a nod. "Well, all I'm saying, aged a., is that Spode would fit right in with the Midian gang.

She humphed. And as she was mid-humph, the Bassett appeared in the doorway.

"Oh, hello Bertie!" she said. "Dear Roderick is coming to have tea with us."

I looked at Jeeves long enough to see a twinkle of agreement in his eye.

We legged it.

*****

"I believe I may be of some assistance, sir."

"Say on, Jeeves, say on." I put the final touches to my evening outfit and checked it in the mirror, standing at right-angles to the glass. The bow-tie, arranged by Jeeves himself, was just the thing. I looked absolutely corking, if I say so myself.

"I have devised an elementary plan, sir. It may prove of use in your situation regarding Lord Sidcup."

"A plan is exactly what we need to counter Spode, Jeeves. If I ever saw a chap who was fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils, he'd be it."

Jeeves gave a sort of rummy cough, like a sheep on a distant mountain-side, which meant he was building up to something big.

"I believe it would be advisable, sir, to convince Lord Sidcup that your affections are engaged elsewhere."

Well, it was a ripe idea, but I couldn't see how he was going to work it. "I don't think he'd quite buy it, what with the lack of hard evidence, Jeeves... he'd probably claim I was making it up. You know what Spode is. A brute with no faith in human nature. Likes to see people rushing around chanting `Heil, Spode!' "

"I meant, sir, that your affections were engaged to someone within Totleigh Towers."

"Great Scott, Jeeves! That's a thought. ...But who? The only female around these parts, apart from the Bassett, is my Aunt Dahlia... and I can't see myself getting engaged to her." I stroked the chin. "Tricky, Jeeves. Tricky."

"Forgive me, sir, but I foresee no difficulty."

"Oh?"

"No, sir. It would be most convenient, sir, for you to declare your affections engaged to a member of the serving class."

"By Jove, I never thought of that. But who?"

One of his eyebrows had arched upwards a fraction of an inch.

"Me, sir."

I reeled.

"You, Jeeves?"

"Yes, sir."

"But... but I can't do that! Imagine what Aunt Dahlia would say. And if word ever got to Aunt Agatha..." Here I broke off, for the thought was too grim for words alone.

"I am aware that the decision may cause some degree of unfortunate remonstration towards your person, sir. Yet this displeasure could be countered by the expedient relief from Lord Sidcup's hostilities, I believe."

I saw what he meant. That is to say, there's no point worrying about aunts when you've got Spode doing his Midian act around the place, is there?

Jeeves was, as always, right on the money. Now was the time for all good men to come to the aid of the party.

"Go on, then, Jeeves," I said, giving an airy wave of the hand. "Impart to me the finer points of this plan."

*****

It so happened that I was having a smoke in the drawing-room before dinner. It was a dashed nice moment, just me and the cloud of smoke, the only other occupant of the room being Madeline Bassett. She was sitting in an armchair, gazing mournfully out of the window.

After a few minutes, I began to see that this could get pretty bally awkward if it continued right until the dinner-gong. The Bassett showed no sign of ceasing her vigil, so I took it upon myself to break to the ice, so to speak.

"What ho, Madeline," I said cheerily.

"Oh, hello Bertie."

"Lovely day, isn't it, and all that."

"Things are very gloomy, Bertie. Yes, very gloomy."

She seemed about to spread herself somewhat, when a noise like a dying frog escaped her. Her eyes bulged, and she clasped her neck. Seeing that she had got something stuck in her throat, I hastened to cross the room and pat her on the back, this being the best way to dislodge the said object, don't you know.

I had just finished patting when the door gave a click, and in walked all eight feet of Spode.

If I hadn't known better, I would've said that he'd got something stuck in his throat too. His eyes bulged, and his face began to turn a nasty shade of purple.

"Wooster!"

I skipped around behind the chair, putting Madeline Bassett before me as a sort of shield.

"Er - hullo there - Lord Spodecup - "

"Wooster!" He paused for a moment to breathe fire. "I am going to tear you limb from limb! I turn my back for a moment, and you have cornered Madeline in here with you!"

"Oh, I don't know, it's all just one of those dashed misunderstandings, what?" 

"And how," asked Spode, bearing down on me with a menacing glare, "is it a misunderstanding?"

And don't you know, the words just came to me then, as if I were reading a script. "It is a misunderstanding, Spode," I said loudly, drawing myself up, "because my affections are engaged elsewhere."

He snorted, but I was ready for this.

"Snort if you must, Spode, but be it known that I am engaged to someone within this very house. It just isn't possible for me to be after Madeline, old chap. No offence intended, of course," I said to the Bassett, who gave a tearful nod.

"Who is it, then?" said Spode roughly.

"I beg yours?"

"Who are you engaged to, Wooster?"

"Mr Wooster is engaged to myself, sir," said a voice from behind us.

Out of nowhere, Jeeves had materialised.

Once more, Spode looked as if he were choking on something.

"You - ?"

"Yes, sir."

Spode alternated between red and purple for a moment, then turned on me again.

"I don't believe a word of it."

"I sincerely regret to hear it, sir," said Jeeves. And then, if you please, he shimmered over to me, and pressed his lips to my own.

It took a few seconds for me to realise that my own gentleman's gentleman was kissing me, here, in front of all and sundry (Spode being the sundry, if you know what I mean)... and then it was over. He removed his mouth from my own and stood there, composed as ever, watching serenely.

I felt a bit rummy. My head seemed to be full of something spongy and sweet, like that pink stuff they give you at fairgrounds. I could still feel the sensation of Jeeves' lips on my own, and suddenly I felt top-hole. I felt absolutely spiffing. You could've locked me in a room with a thousand Bassetts and my Aunt Agatha, and I'd have given them a right smile and said `Pip-pip!'

"Goodbye, Spode," I said, in ringing tones, crossing the room with Jeeves trailing in my wake. "We'll be seeing you." Spode looked more like an orang-utang than ever, as his mouth was hanging open in an O-shape.

"Tally-ho, Spode!" I said.

And I meant it to sting.

*****

"Jeeves, you are a marvel."

"Yes, sir." 

"One in a million, I've always said. An absolute corker." 

"It is very kind of you, sir." 

We were packing to leave Totleigh Towers, and I don't mind telling you that it was a dashed relief. All this time holed up with a weeping maiden and an unfriendly gorilla had made me long for the apartment.

"Spode must've recovered by now, though, what?"

"No, sir. I regret to inform you that Lord Sidcup is feeling somewhat perturbed, sir."

"Oh, is he? I wonder why that could be."

"You have not heard the news concerning Miss Bassett?"

"What news, Jeeves? Tell all." 

"She has eloped, sir. With a man of your acquaintance, I believe, known as Mr Fink-Nottle."

"She got angry with Spode and Gussie caught her on the rebound, you mean?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, I'm dashed!" This was a turn-up for the books, and no mistake. You couldn't find two chaps less like each other than Roderick Spode and Gussie Fink-Nottle. The Spode being, as we have witnessed, a thug of the first order, while the Fink-Nottle being a poop who drinks orange juice and lives in a house full of newts. Likes to watch their mating-dance, I believe.

"Indeed, sir. Yet I judge that our momentary ruse was successful in diverting Lord Sidcup's attentions from your person, sir."

"Now, come now, Jeeves. I say." I wasn't letting him get away with that.

"Sir?"

"Momentary ruse? I think not, Jeeves."

And I threw myself upon him right then. 

I'll spare you the details of the thing, but suffice it to say that Jeeves' plan had awakened in me something dashed lively. I couldn't stop thinking about Jeeves, and I didn't mean to stop. In fact, I meant to make the most of every opportunity concerning my gem of a valet.

"Jeeves," I said, as I surfaced again, "you have made me the happiest man in the world."

"Thankyou, sir."

And if there was a tear in my eye, what of it? He had, as usual, saved the day. As I gazed at Jeeves, I came to a decision. It was a wrench to do it, but we Woosters are made of stern stuff.

"Jeeves," I said, "you may dispose of the yellow check trousers."

He smiled, ever so slightly.

"Thankyou, sir. I have done so already, sir." He laid a hand gently upon my shoulder. "I have sent them to charity this morning." 

Well, I mean to say, what?

 


End file.
